The land beneath thudded as I leapt down, leaves crunching far too loudly in the silence. The fog did not waver. It clung, step for step, moving with me as I cut through its hazed form.
I felt it immediately, the quiet gravity, the pull. Not the forest creatures, not the usual hum of magic in its roots, but an intentional force.
My pulse staggered, venom beading as fangs slipped free, unbidden. The pressure rose, too much to contain as my eyes began rolling back when the Viper struck its bars.
Its rage became my pulse. Its hunger, my breath.
No. The scream tore internally through me.
I forced the curse down, locking the door, shoving the fangs back into hiding. My hand flew to the bracelet at my wrist where it pulsed.
It was an enduring strength that wound into my skin and whispered:You are not lost.
It reminded me that I was still in control, even when I felt I wasn’t.
When I reached for the pull again, it was gone. Replaced by a sound that split the forest in two. A horn.
My head snapped up. It came again, sharp and brutal. Like an axe cleaving against its mate. Then a third time.
Gods, no.
Four.
I knew at that momentexactlywhat the king had planned.
Four horns from the town meant only one thing. Obrann had made his move—and someone was about to bleed for it.
I prayed whatever Callum had planned could rival Obrann’s scheme. That hope dissolved the moment I reached town.
The air was quiet, the streets empty. There was no music or clamor, only an eerie stillness, the horns stopping the world entirely.
A thud shattered the hush where I rounded the corner as a door slammed against its hinges in the wind. As though everyone had fled in a rush.
Mud sucked at my boots as I trudged into the town’s center, each step leaving a gaping impression where the crowd grew thicker.
My hands tensed, fingers curling and uncurling, vision blurring as colors bled together, before a hand caught my shoulder.
I spun, dagger already unsheathed, already pressed to a throat where startled brown eyes stared back at me.
My stomach dropped. “Shit.” I yanked the blade back. “Sorry, Wells.” I flipped the dagger, retreating a step. Eagerness stirred beneath my skin, a tongue lashing, remembering him.
Not a fucking chance.I shoved the urge down. Buried it.
Where I expected fear on Wells’ face, I found only kindness. But it was a thinner version of it, frayed at the edges, pulled taut by what was left unspoken.
“How’s the dagger?” he asked, fingers twitching at his sides.
“A dream.” My thumb grazed the smooth hilt. “Thank you again.”
Hair bounced against his brow as he gave a short bow. “My pleasure.” He turned, scanning the center where the crowd clotted. “Have you seen Callum?” he asked, rummaging absently in a worn satchel. “Or Gemma?”
My eyes shot to his trembling fingers, subtle, but there, shaking like they were trying to hold something back. My jaw tightened. “Not yet.” I searched for auburn curls or a silver braid. “But the king hasn’t arrived either.” I lowered my voice. “Do you know who’s being chosen?”
I looked back when he hadn’t answered.
He had gone still, eyes clamped shut, lips moving in a whisper too faint to catch.
“Wells?” I stepped closer, reaching for his arm. “Are you okay?”
